Wrong Coffin
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: Flash fic. Spike can't remember how he got into this particular coffin. Post series finale for Angel.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own any rights to _Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel,_ or _NCIS_.

**Author's notes:** Post s5 Angel, disregarding the comics and any explanation for what happened in the finale. Anytime really for NCIS. No spoilers. One-shot.

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"Wrong Coffin"

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At this point in his unlife, Spike was rather used to waking up inside a coffin. Not that he usually used a coffin for sleeping (one big damned cliché if he'd ever heard one), but they made for bloody good hiding places. However, what made this particular situation odd was that this wasn't a coffin of his choosing. Hell, he couldn't even remember being near a funeral parlor or cemetery. In fact, all he could remember was…

With a groan, he reached up, touching his brow-line. He ripped off the gauze covering the gash across his skull. Still tender, but the flesh itself had already knitted itself shut.

Damn, he'd been out a while. And, waking up in a coffin was never a good thing, even for the undead. For all he knew, he could be six feet under.

He huffed, an unnecessary effort. "Well, bollocks."

Then, his senses seemed to catch up with him. He wasn't underground. For starters, the world outside the box was far too loud. Some sort of music was blasting in the background.

"Android Lust?" he observed, cocking a brow at the recognition. He was deeply shamed.

And, also, the smell was entirely wrong. If fact, he wasn't mistaken, the cushioning surrounding his body smelled of women's perfume, and, very faintly, of sex. Maybe chips, too. Very "alive" smells.

He reached up, pushing at the top of the coffin. It slid open, obviously on a hinge, and light filtered in. The music outside was instantly quieted. Before Spike could prop himself up, a woman was hovering over him.

She'd bent forward, raven black pig-tails spilling over her shoulders, a drink held between her hands, as if it were rather weighty. It read Caf-Pow in bright lettering. She slurped off if it, loudly, observing him with wide, black-lined eyes.

When she pulled away from the straw, she looked buzzed, but content. "Oh, good," she chirped. "I'm glad you decided to join the living, because I've got to be at work in an hour."

And then Spike remembered where he'd seen the young woman before. A darkened bar, a package he was supposed to pick up in DC, a blond waitress being followed by two vampires. Two vampires he distinctly remembered taking out…but obviously not before one of them got in a lucky hit and sent him flying in front of a red Ford…had that been a bloody Model B coupe? And a little goth had hopped out right before his world had went dark.

Damned embarrassing.

"You dented my fender," she said, as if reading his mind. "But I forgive you. After all, you did save that woman's life."

Spike only blinked up. "Love," he said, cocking his head against the pillows, "do I know you?"

She chuckled, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "Abby Sciuto," she introduced. She reached one fingerless glove down, forcing him to shake her hand. "I hit you with my car."

"Urr, Spike," he replied, and pushed himself up. Then his mind went back to the coffin he was sitting inside. It was official: even the normal humans weren't quite normal. "Fancy meeting you, Ab, but I should really…"

She nodded. "Leave before the sun rises," she finished, still bouncing on her toes. Abby smiled brightly. "I guess turning into ashes would suck. Though, I'd love to analyze those… I wonder if-"

Spike raised a brow, throwing his legs over the coffin and hopping out. "Analyze? Oh, bloody hell, not another mad scientist. Can't a bloke get a break?"

She smirked, looking devious, "Oh, please, if I was going to stake you, I would have done it while you were out. Not that I can promise I didn't take a few samples to study, but I didn't do anything too hinky to you while you were sleeping. That would've been wrong."

"Who the hell are you?"

Abby looked distressed at the question. "Like I said, my name's Abby. Wow, you must have hit your head really hard. Maybe you should sit back down."

Spike took a step away from her, knocking a stuffed hippo off a shelf. "How do you know about vampires?"

She shrugged. "Come _on_, of course vampires exist. You guys leave way too much evidence behind, even if the general populace refuses to acknowledge it. I figured I'd run into one eventually, which is why I keep a crucifix nearby. I'm usually a glass half-full kind of goth, but I really didn't expect to find one going all vigilante on a few of his own kind. Very cool."

"Note for the future, love. Don't bring home strange vampires." Spike spotted the door. Not far.

"You know," she looked lost in her thoughts, "I'd really love to keep in touch. I have tons of questions. And you owe me for not leaving you in the street."

"Figured you were making up for hitting me with your car."

Abby chose to ignore him. Her pile of chained bracelets jingled as she reached out, holding a slip of paper out between two black-tipped fingers. "So, I might have some questions for you, when I get done with the samples I took. This is my email. Send me a message when you get back home, and we'll talk."

Spike took it, not bothering to mention his lack of an email address. "Yeah, sure."

Abby was silent a moment. She tilted her head, her hair swinging. "You can leave now."

Spike had been dead a while now, but he wasn' t quite sure he'd ever get used to waking up in the wrong coffin. Or if he'd ever truly understand the female sex. He left the building, promising himself he was going to kill Peaches for sending him here, but slipping the strip of a paper into his pocket, despite himself. He'd always had a thing for the quirky ones.


End file.
